Ironing Out A Problem
by MyMortisha
Summary: He never once thought of it as a possibility, a viral outbreak.... In his city. Now Police Chief Irons arms himself, ready for a battle for his very survival..... One shot: One Chapter, what happened to Irons before he made it to the helipad in RE2? Rated


_Please note: I do not own any of the characters as they are presented in this story. Except for Sam Johnson (Iron's helicopter pilot.) Also this will hopefully be the first in a series of quick, one-shot Fics featuring many of RE's underwritten characters. Enjoy, RR, and flames are definitely welcome. I'm new at this so any kind of review is definitely appreciated (and in my opinion warranted….) _

**Ironing Out A Problem **

Irons had been listening intently from the relative safety of his office. The groans of the zombies, the assault rifle fire, the poor planning by Irons, and after all Iron's had done for them. He'd covered up Umbrella's biggest fuck-up in recent memory back in The Arklay Mansion. Now they send monsters into the city?

'Bullshit! I covered those assholes backs for a year or more, and then they fucking betray me!'

Irons stewed in his own anger as he could hear fighting in the building. The phone lines weren't even working anymore. Its like he was stuck in some bad horror movie, or its big budget sequel….

But Irons, as wily as he is, had a backup plan. He had paid of an outside pilot, one who didn't work for The Police Department or Umbrella, a certain Sam Johnson to fly him out've Racoon on a moments notice, a bit of a negotiative masturbation for sure. But he had to make himself feel important. He wanted people to think he was important enough to need his own private pilot. But now it was more than that, he needed this pilot just to survive

For now all he was worried about was getting to the roof. He heard zombies on the floor earlier and knew that the Virus had already spread through most of the city. He stood up sighing heavily; he walked over to the front of his heavy Oak desk and grabbed the stuffed bunny by its head, flipping it up revealed a glistening red button. He pressed it. The entire top of his desk rolled back revealing a glass munitions case. In it was a Mac-Ingram Sub-Machine Gun. 'I always hoped I'd never have to use this' Irons thought to himself, near the bottom of the glass screen was a number panel. He typed in his password, three sixes, and two ones. The panel opened with a tight hissing sound as compressed air came out from underneath the bulletproof glass. As the glass rolled aside he pulled out the MISMG, he took all ten clips he had for it. Strapping it over his shoulder he walked over to his filing cabinet. He pulled a key out've his pocket and opened the fourth drawer down, inside was a black Bernelli Sawed-Off twelve gauge shotgun. Irons had this custom made just for himself; he often used it on hunting trips. He also pulled out his Samurai. The Samurai was a specially made .45 Pistol, his friend John Kendo was glad to make it for him when Iron's officers stopped a robbery in progress at his gun shop. Irons loaded his pockets for the short trip to the roof. He stuffed the pistol into the waist belt of his pants. He fit the shotgun into a thigh holster he had also had specially fitted for himself. He held the SMG in his hands. He took all forty shells he had for the shotgun and 15 clips for his pistol. He was ready.

'Well Irons, its now or never.'

He carefully unlocked his door, and opened it into the hallway. Fortunately it was quiet. He shut the door to his office as he kept his Mac pointed at the doorway down the end of the hall. Suddenly the door burst open, coming off its hinges it smashed against the floor as a veritable flood of zombies came bursting into the hallway, about twelve in all. Irons began blasting away. The Mac spit fire, as the zombies seemed unstoppable. He centered his fire on the leader and fired, he hit it from the stomach to the face splattering blood everywhere. He continued firing. Another zombie stumbled forward quickly Irons focused his fire on it and the Mac tore its right arm straight off. The hallway was a scene of violent chaos as blood and limbs splattered and bounced everywhere. Irons soon found himself flat up against the door behind him. He tried the doorknob with one hand while wildly firing The Mac with the other.

'Fucking doors locked!' Iron's mind screamed.

Irons began to panic as his Mac clip ran dry. He let the Mac drop to his side as he pulled the sawed-off from its holster and cocked it. He fired at a zombie, its head caved inwards like a rotten melon. He fired again, this time right under the jaw and its head exploded in a shower of blood and gore. He stood in one place firing, with no room to maneuver he had to hope the zombies wouldn't reach him before he ran out've ammo. He fired away; a shot knocked one of the zombies backwards into the group. It got back up but was greeted with a shotgun blast through the temple. Irons blasted away, but there were still just to many of them. He leaned forwards as another zombie lunged for him. He rocketed back up against the door, his shotgun was angled upwards as he fired, and the zombie's head was disintegrated by the blast. Thinking fast Irons grabbed the zombie and threw it back to the hoard in front of him. Many of the zombies were thrown off balance as he spun around and kicked away at the doorknob. The door exploded open with a massive wooden thud. Irons quickly took time to reload his Mac as he spun around. He fired away as the zombies came out after him. He angled his fire up into their head and throat area, and they fell lifeless. But still more were coming. Irons stood his ground firing at every one of those undead fuckers.

"Damn things! Die fuckers! Die! Come get it bitches!" Irons was cursing and shouting erratically as he fired. Finally as he turned the last ones into fertilizer he said sarcastically, "Tell Satan I said hi."

The hallway Irons used to walk through to get to his office every morning was pockmarked with bullet holes, dead bodies and blood splattered everywhere. Suddenly Irons felt sick. However he was snapped out've his thoughts by the sounds of muffled groaning and shuffling from somewhere in the area. He reloaded his guns and walked off cautiously. The groaning was growing louder and more frequent as he neared the small meeting room. He opened the door and peered in. Inside had to be fifteen or twenty zombies bent over three or four former police officers, they were being eaten.

'Damn no survivors!' Irons though to himself.

Irons slammed the door quickly but it was useless. Because in a flash the zombies had his scent and were slamming themselves up against the door trying to get out, Irons jumped back, he readied his Mac and began to fire, short controlled bursts through the thin wooden door. He blasted away for a full two minutes before kicking the door open. To his surprise most of the zombies were still standing. He fired; rounds ripped the zombies to shreds, as he advanced towards them. He brought the wildly inaccurate Mac up to eye level and began to fire in precise, short controlled bursts, rounds blasted zombies in the heart and lungs as he slowly backed off. He was halfway between the main briefing room and the coffee room. He spun around into the coffee room and was greeted with a close encounter with the undead; he dropped the Mac to his side and fumbled with his shotgun. He tripped as the zombie lunged for him, falling he hit the wall with a sickening snap. He felt a rib poking through his shirt as he finally got his shotgun. He fired and the zombie's leg snapped like a twig at the knee. With it down level with him he blasted its face and head apart with a single shell before struggling to his feet. He fired as he labored his way towards the door, one hand held his side as he both cocked and fired his shotgun with the other. Finally he made it to the door. He cocked and fired as the zombies approached him en masse. With his broken ribs Irons realized he didn't have the speed advantage over the zombies he once had. Still determined he managed to get to the hallway outside and found himself sitting up against the wall. His shotgun spit fire as zombies came stumbling towards him; most of them were fertilizer before they could get within a few feet of him. With the adrenaline pumping Irons pulled himself up from his sitting position and stumbled away at a desperately quick pace. He stopped and fired as the zombies stumbled down the hall after him. His shotgun was worthless at long range, so he unholstered his Samurai. Using its built in laser sight he drew a bead on the zombie in the front and fired, it fell, a large piece of its head missing, the zombies behind it tripped over it, as Irons quickly found his exit.

'I've gotta get to the bullpen, I can get outside from there.'

Irons thought long and hard about which hallway to take next, he knew either way could lead to disaster. He opted for the shortest way and chose the door on the left. He stumbled down a short flight of stairs, zombies he hadn't noticed before began stumbling from the shadows near the dark room. Exhausted and in excruciating pain he slipped down into a sitting position and began firing with his pistol. He trained a bead on a zombie's head and fired, he fired again, and again, and again. The zombie fell with four large holes blown through its skull.

'Stupid brain-dead fucks…' Irons thought.

Quickly he slipped off down the stairs unsteadily. Gingerly he stepped over the fallen zombie. Luckily that was the only zombie in the area.

"Another decision." Irons stated out loud.

The door to his left lead to a communications room, he did need to contact his pilot and tell him he'd be late…. But, if he could make it quickly enough he could he wouldn't have to. Irons glanced at his watch. The three zombie battles had really slowed him up. At 11:32 he'd be two minutes late for his ETOPU (Estimated time of pick-up) it was now 11:27.

'Option A then.' Irons thought to himself as he continued through the door directly ahead of him.

He closed the door behind him, and found four zombies in the next hall. Two were at the far end and the other two advanced on him rapidly. With great speed and precision he opened fire with his Mac. He swiveled his hips to spread his fire against both of them. He beat one zombie into submission with bullets and pinned the other against the wall. Its hands and fingers were blown clean off as Irons brought the Mac's fire against its chest. The zombie slid down the wall with a gaping hole blown through its chest. By now the other two were stumbling forward with single-minded determination, he blasted away experimenting with the Mac he fired at the waists of the two zombies. One of the zombie's legs was shredded and it fell as Irons cut it down with Mac fire. The other went to grab Irons but Irons was too quick as he brought the Mac up to block the zombie's advance, he struggled for a moment and threw it off; with it stunned Irons blew it away.

Irons proceeded through the next procession of hallways with no incident. He quickly made his way into the offices, often called The Bullpen. Almost every light in the room was off with the exception of those powered by backup generators.

'Shit no lights.' Irons thought to himself. Thankfully it was quiet. But that didn't mean jack all sometimes.

He slipped into the room and out the back. He took the stairway around back up to the second floor. This area was long ago sealed off as part of a maintenance order sent in by, ironically enough, Irons himself. The area was never really used, although its official status was a smoking parlor and video-machine room. Irons was a damn nice guy, he gave his men an arcade and a place to smoke while on break. However it seemed like no one ever used it, so he had it sealed off during the summer in 1995. Irons was so consumed with his own thoughts as he made his way to the roof that the six zombies that were following him caught him by surprise.

"Fuck! Where'd they come from!" Shouted Irons firing.

His Mac clip quickly went dry as he reloaded it. The chopper suddenly roared into view, the spotlight from it was blinding, as Irons couldn't see what the hell was coming towards him.

Irons shouted in vain over the roar of the chopper, "Turn the light off! Turn it off!"

He fired away, he couldn't hear the moans anymore either. Suddenly zombies surged up on either side of Irons, they were nearly unseeable in the wide circle of light. The Mac clip ran dry yet again and Irons pulled out his shotgun. He fired, and fired, a huge piece of flesh was torn from his shoulder as another zombie took a bit out've his throat. Irons fell, he pulled out his Samurai and dropped it as another zombie bit through his wrist, Irons watched in horror as his entire left hand slid off, blood splurting from the space it formerly occupied. Irons reloaded his Mac with one hand and fired, and tried to stand, but the zombies surged forward again, the Mac's bullets spit forward everywhere.

"What the hells goin' on down there?" Questioned pilot Sam Johnson as several errant Mac bullets struck him. He tried to control the chopper, at first thinking about landing it on the street below but before he could his heart stopped beating and it crashed directly into the side of The RPD building. Explosions rocked the old building's foundation, as the chopper came to a stop. A small fire had started.

An hour later Police Chief Irons struggled to his feet, dead zombies all around. A glimpse of the wreckage drained any hope from his heart. He pulled out his Samurai and pushed it underneath his chin. A second later Irons was dead….


End file.
